Having to quit "cold turkey" by the Witcher's decree when you'd joined up, had made you a bit antsy. Maybe a bit sharper in temper. Quicker to rage. But that didn't necessarily mean it was symptoms of withdrawal. Genuinely, you didn't need the blood.

He hadn't been keen on letting you live. Though you'd referenced Regis enough in your pleadings for your life, that he assumed there might've been some merit to your claims that you'd been off blood for months if not years now. He'd given the other vampire the chance to prove himself, and now he was doing his trial run of yours.

Your time traveling together had mostly been uneventful considering he was between jobs. The occasional fight with a werewolf or Endrega left much to be desired in terms of bloodshed or victims to sneak a bite on, as he quickly dispatched them with consistent skill and grace.

The trouble arose when you had both made camp for the night alongside fellow travelers. They had offered their food and warm fire and that had been enough for you to lay your knapsack close to theirs.

During the early hours of the night however, their scouting group had returned. Some were maimed greatly, and they spoke of an encounter with a bear in the dark that had caught them with their guard down, quickly dispatching some of their members and lacerating the others.

In normal circumstances you could be trusted not to feed. When the blood sat beneath the skin, you could resist the urge. Even if the person had a minor wound. But the allure of the wounded scouts, as they bled out on the grass, left the hunger gnawing at you like a pit in your stomach.

In the following hours, you had crept to the sleeping, wounded scouts and prepared to bite. Though you were quickly yanked back by the collar of your shirt and dragged out to the thicket, at which point you were unceremoniously placed into a headlock as Geralt slid a strip of leather between your jaws. He then mumbled seemingly to himself. "It's my own fault for trusting an animal to fend off its own hunger."